Our household has entered into a season of change. It’s not uncommon or radically different than what anyone else has gone through in the course of human history, it’s just new to us. And like so many of those phases and stages we’ve drifted through before we feel unsure and a little unsteady. We wonder if we’ve made the right decisions. We grieve for what we leave behind and yet try to bravely move into the future. Did we do the right thing? Did we act too soon? Did we respond appropriately? Are our boys going to understand? Are they going to be OK? Are we going to be OK? What does life look like now? How long are we going to be in transition?

Most days we have a lot of grace for each other and other days we fail miserably. Some days we don’t give each other enough space to breath and explore this new frontier. Other days we adventure into the unknown together and find ourselves giggling as we wander, discovering what this new routine, schedule and set of responsibilities is asking of us.

I am amazed by my boys. Both have overcome so much in their past phases and stages. Change is hard for anyone, my boys are no exception, but I am learning from them how to navigate in this new place. They are helping each other. They are excited to share what they are learning, who they are loving, and what they are fearing. Time apart during the day has solidified their bond for each other. They still fight like brothers do, but for the first seconds as my oldest steps off the bus, they are long lost friends.

Monk had a half day this week and he was able to go with me to pick up Trunk. We eagerly waited in the hallway for Trunk to come out and when he did he squealed with delight to his teacher, “It’s my brother! My brother is here! This is my brother!” He stopped traffic in the hallway. Everyone had to see this brother that this tiny human was declaring his allegiance. His other teacher had to come out of the class to meet this brother. Another woman, who works at the school, came up to us to tell me, “He talks about his brother all the time.” It was music to this mom’s heart.

I am a chronic overthinker and planner. New phases and stages are difficult for me.  I don’t want to do it wrong. I don’t want to mess up. I love the idea of a fresh start and new scenery, but the idea of actually stepping into something new can leave me paralyzed. New phases and stages have a new set of rules.  I’m leaving behind something I already had figured out. It was familiar and comfortable. New is unknown and uncomfortable.

Times like these remind me of a song by Sara Groves called ‘Painting Pictures of Egypt’. It’s a song about growth, change and discomfort. She compares her situation to the Israelites when they are leaving Egypt. God has just brought them across the Red Sea on dry ground and then allowed the sea to swallow the Egyptians in their pursuit. He rescued them from slavery and just a short time later the Israelites are in the desert dreaming about their past life.  The chorus says, “I’ve been painting pictures of Egypt and leaving out what it lacks. The future feels so hard and want to go back, but the places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I’ve learned. Those roads were closed off to me while my back as turned.”

It is no secret, if you know me, that I did not love the baby stage. I did not love the toddler phase. The threenagers of the world better give their moms a hug for putting up with their non-sense. I have been overjoyed at the prospect of the school phase of life. I knew my boys were ready. We were all ready! We are one month into school and there is a tiny part of my heart that wants to go back.  It’s a really really tiny part of my heart because I do not miss diapers or middle of the night feedings or having to constantly be prepared for puke, poop or pouting. But then my boys leave me here. What are they doing? Are they OK? Are they being kind? Are they eating enough? Did they remember to   turn in their homework? Who do they talk to all day? Does their teacher understand them? And in those quiet moments, I long for the days when I knew where they were and what they were doing.  I knew what they were eating or what they were refusing to eat. And I tried with all my might to understand them.

School is one of the many new things we are learning to navigate right now, the others I am not ready to talk about, but I want to walk through all of these new things like my boys and not be afraid to share what I am learning, who I am loving and what I am fearing. I want to be honest about what my Egypt looked like, but free from trying to go back. Because just like Sara Groves said in the song, “The places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I’ve learned.” If I stay in the past I am not growing.  If I stay in the comfortable I am not learning. And if I live in fear than I am not loving well.